In My Mind's Eye
by Emom
Summary: This is a one shot story based on a fan art picture. Dean goes on a hunt alone.


In My Mind's Eye

_Author's Note: This short story was inspired by the amazing and beautiful art work by Bonny with Deans head laying in the lap of a small child comforting him._

_I don't own these characters but simply try to enjoy their journeys along the way._

* * *

Dean climbed out of the Impala and stood in the shadows, careful to keep out of sight. The moon was full overhead bringing plenty of light which was nice considering the creature he hunted had expert night vision. His feet shifted beneath him as he methodically scanned the scene and tried to set a predetermined path in his mind, knowing he was on his own with this one. Sam, who had headed off in the other direction, was following up on another lead in the hunt. But something told Dean it was here, down deep in his bones where research was filed away and gut instinct took over.

It was here.

Before him the old farmhouse was dark and appeared unoccupied even though the yard was littered with toys, a rusted out swing set, and an old basketball hoop that didn't even have a net anymore. Potted plants on the porch were brown and dead as though forgotten and abandoned while large black crows perched in the bare trees around him. Dean hoped the deserted look was the case since chasing down this monster with other people around, _and_ everyone coming out alive, would be next to impossible.

Next to the house was a dilapidated barn. The red paint mostly gone, windows broken out and no signs or sounds of animal life could be heard. Stepping out of the shadows he moved across the gravel driveway and stood at the front porch steps. Curtains hung in the windows, appearing dirty, torn and unkempt, occasionally moving from the gentle breeze that came through the broken panes.

_Nope, _Dean thought to himself. _Nothing creepy as hell about this at all. _

The first step was as expected, full of creaks and groans that seemed to sound through the still air like gun shots. His face grimaced while a whisper of 'dammit' uttered from under his breath. The next three steps he took as one in hopes of minimizing the racket as much as possible. He was sure the thing could smell him long before hearing him but there was nothing wrong with pretenses of protection. The air was bitter cold and he could see his own breath and he instinctively pulled his leather jacket a bit closer with a single shudder rippling though him.

"I get the creepy old place while he gets to check out the five star hotel?" He again muttered with frustration. Their standard game of rock, paper, scissors had him once again taking the higher risk lead. Even now, after all the times he had lost, he wasn't sure if Sam realized the private game he played as big brother.

Pausing for a moment he listened intently for any evidence of life. Hearing nothing but the crickets and toad frogs in the yard he opened the screen door and tried to turn the front door handle. A gentle twisting revealed it was unlocked and gingerly he pushed it open to step inside.

To his right was the living room, complete with couch, chairs, an old TV sitting on a rickety stand and even pictures on the walls of rivers and wildlife. To the left appeared to be an office with yellowed paperwork scattered over the ground, the chair turned over and a layer of dust on it. Straight ahead was a hallway to what he assumed would be the kitchen and beside it was the staircase to the next floor. Hearing a small noise his head jerked upwards, his senses on hyper-alert.

With both hands gripping the handgun he moved up the stairs, his back against the wall looking ahead to take in as much as possible. The first door was open, also complete with furniture, the bed unmade, dresser drawers pulled out like a quick exit had occurred at some point. Swinging his hips around the door frame he moved to the closet and let out a quiet breath between pursed lips before jerking the handle open and letting it swing wide.

In the second that nothing jumped out at him he made sure it was empty before moving back to the hall and to the next door. This one was open and he knew instantly it was a child's room, obviously belonging to a little girl with all the frilly linens and faded pink decorations. Dolls sat on the tiny desk, complete with a tea set and crayons, now broken and scattered along the floor.

His body froze with the next scraping sound that came from down the hallway, his muscles taunt and ready for action. Moving back out of the bedroom he kept his gun at the ready, his index finger feeling the cool trigger beneath it. The only door left would be the bathroom and it was closed. Something moved again behind the door, a shadow glancing at the bottom. His reaction was to slow his breathing and to focus letting his nerves prepare for what would most likely be life saving moves.

He thought of the phone that was in his pocket and momentarily kicked himself for not already calling Sam, alerting him to his gut feelings. It was too late now. He could only assume that it also knew he was here. The fact that Sammy would at least be safe from one less monster, for one more night, was an unspoken internal dialogue. It didn't need acknowledgement at this point. All these years of trying to protect his little brother made it a part of his being.

Stepping softly but deliberately he pressed his back against the wall and readied himself to open the door and shoot. Mentally counting himself down from three he grabbed the handle and pushed the door open swinging his gun around to face the monster in the shadows. But instead of seeing something to shoot he was instantly pushed down by a powerful force, his body sliding into the stair railing causing his head to hit the old wood flooring.

For a brief moment everything went black.

The sound of fleeing steps running down the stairs brought him back to consciousness as he staggered to regain his footing while thrusting out a _'son of a bitch'_ grunt. Before having full vision back he headed down the stairs at a dead run and straight out the front door.

Coming to a grinding halt at the bottom of the porch stairs he saw the barn door swing shut and knew where he was headed next. Pulling out his phone from his jacket he quickly dialed Sam.

"Son of a bitch is here Sammy," he gasped out through panting breaths as he ran across the yard towards the barn.

"Dean, wait till I get there! I'm only twenty minutes out," Sam pleaded to his brother knowing perfectly well the words would be ignored.

"Just hurry up! I'm not letting this son of a bitch get away again!"

There were no goodbyes, just clicks and the knowledge that backup was on the way. Dean knew that those twenty minutes could be an eternity if that thing wanted to keep running. They had been tracking this beast across three counties and a trail of 7 bloody corpses. The next town over would be a massacre. It had to stop here and Dean knew it. There was no way in hell he was going to let it take another life.

Pushing open the large red door he stepped inside to quickly get his night vision adjusted. The barn was large with the second level split to each side with ladder access. Two old tractors blocked a lot of the view along with various tools, boxes, wooden barrels and multiple stacks of rotting hay bales.

A lot of places to hide.

"This is the end, so just come out and stop playing games," Dean growled into the dark.

The shaking growl resembled a laugh. A shiver went up his spine and a second's hesitation went out to Sam, summoning him to drive faster. The decision to wait was long gone now. No turning back.

"Well, I'm not impressed with your definition of games," Dean answered angrily as he moved closer to the voice, attempting to use the tractor as a shield.

His night senses tried to keep up with the shifting noises that seemed to come from a different direction each time. It was moving fast and silent. His human disadvantages in the dark were never more apparent to him than now.

He knew to keep it talking would help him pinpoint a location better.

"Your trail of dead bodies ends here tonight."

Dean circled the tractor towards the voice. His breathing was heavy in the night air. "Come on Sammy," he muttered low. "You won't be the first one I kill, and certainly not the last."

The sound shifted and gentle breeze caused the barn door to open wider. When the light from the moon revealed a figure before him hit only took a fraction of a second to feel his chest tighten with terror. His hope that it was Sam was wrong. Very wrong.

Approximately one hundred feet in front of him was a small child, a little girl. She appeared to be about five years old, dressed in dark pants, white tennis shoes and a brown coat with dark soft fur gathered around the neckline. An oversized knitted brown hat fit over her head with long curly locks of brown hair falling out all around her face.

In the split second that Dean realized she was there he had a split second of confusion of why and how out of place her cherub smile and deep brown eyes were. A rapid look around her revealed nothing and he quickly gestured for her to come towards him. Her eyebrows creased in question with a gentle tilt of her head and for a second Dean though she might run off before he could get to her. But instead she started walking to him in an unhurried playful way.

Stepping forward to meet her last steps he grasped her hand, pulling her beside him as he knelt down closer. There was no sign of fear in the chocolate brown eyes and their sparkle seemed in stark contrast to the lifeless property around them.

"Are you okay?" Dean whispered to her as his eyes did a quick survey for signs of attack or blood.

"Uh huh," she said with a nod of her head, her smile disappearing as fast as his frown grew. "Who are you?" She said with a frown forming along her pressed together lips.

Dean wasn't accustomed to being interrogated by a child. "Um, I'm Dean." He was ready for his own interrogation until a knocked over box refocused his attention on the danger at hand.

Not letting go of the tiny warm hand Dean stood back up and stepped along the tractor, pulling his charge in tow, and caught a glimpse of a dog shadow in the back hay bales. He looked down at the petite mystery by his side and suddenly realized that it would take a miracle to get them both out of this barn alive.

"I'm Elizabeth," she answered to his face full of questions.

"Shhhh," he whispered. "There's a dog in here that we want to hide from." It was difficult to keep his voice light and childlike. But he really didn't like the look of fear that filled her eyes now.

She shook her head. "It's a really bad doggie. It hurts people so you have to make it stop."

Dean worked hard to not roll his eyes in a _'yes I know that'_ manner. "You're right so I need you to be very quiet, okay?"

She smiled again with complete and utter trust. "Okay Dean."

The tractor that he was using as a shield was broken with only two tires in place. This made it low to the ground with almost three sides closed off. Kneeling down beside her he pushed a brown lock from her face.

"Elizabeth, have you ever played hide and seek?" He watched her face light up with excitement.

She eagerly nodded yes with a bright smile.

"Okay," Dean continued. "I need you to lay down under here and be super quiet and hide until I come back to get you, okay?"

Elizabeth nodded and proceeded to crawl under the tractor until Dean could hardly see her. He knew the werewolf could still smell her, but this allowed him to focus on what needed to be done for the moment. Seeing her lay down on her stomach, she propped on her elbows and let her chin rest on her tiny folded hands. Even now, there was no real fear in her eyes. Dean didn't know whether to be reassured or scared to death in that trust.

He knew he had to distract the creature from where they had been, to draw it away from Elizabeth. He moved around to the right, attempting to come up behind its assumed position. The next rustle he heard was followed by a vicious growl and an impact of pure muscle, bone and fur. His fall was hard on the wooden floor and it was taking everything he had to keep the giant werewolf's teeth away from his flesh. His legs were pinned and a quick glance to his right revealed where his gun had landed, still within reaching distance, but that would require a free hand and he was sure he couldn't afford that luxury right now.

Fighting off the attack with his own growls of rage and self preservation he managed to knock the beast off balance long enough to roll it off him, however, it moved to his left side placing him even farther from his gun. A quick grab of his knife from his belt allowed a single swing which sent out a yelp and another disappearance of the creature into the shadows.

Rolling onto his side he felt a burning sensation along his abdomen and a quick pat with his hand revealed blood. Three large tears into his flesh were revealed, not deep, but deep enough to bleed like a stuck pig and to definitely hurt like hell.

"Damn it!" He tried to push his jacket out of the way and press his hand into the wounds to stop the bleeding which only intensified the searing pain. Quick breaths whistling between clamped down teeth and jaw.

_Gun. _He had to stay focused or he wouldn't last until Sam arrived.

Turning to grab his gun was met immediately with another overwhelming thrust of power that sent him flying across the barn until he abruptly hit a large stack of hay. Forcing his eyes open he could see the immense creature leisurely moving towards him, almost appearing amused by the turn of events. By now his head was spinning, his stomach fighting the overwhelming urge of nausea and the energy was draining from him as fast as the blood flowed beneath him. Struggling to prop up on his elbows he couldn't maintain the balance long enough to even see where the gun had gone at this point.

For a moment there was resignation. His only hope was that gun and it's precious silver bullet. Sam was nowhere to be seen yet and even more than that, he had let the little girl down. Turning his head towards the tractor he expected to see her there looking at him.

But she wasn't there.

A flash of panic raced through him and he found the energy to attempt to sit up, knowing the beast continued to move towards him. The first thing he saw were small white feet and looking up to see her he felt an rush emotion that brought tears to his eyes. He couldn't protect her, she was too young to understand, and now they would both be lost. Then something flashed beside her. A shimmer of silver reflected by the moonlight and Dean knew instantly what it was.

Elizabeth was holding his gun.

Reaching out he took it from her just as the wolf also knew what was happening and lunged at them both.

The gun went off.

Only inches away the werewolf lay dead. Dean smiled and looked at her, quickly scanning to make sure she had not been hurt, but this time her face was different. It held a sadness that caught him off guard.

He coughed and grimaced at the pain that ripped through him. "Did he hurt you?" Dean gruffly demanded.

Her head shake was quick and her eyes moved to his wounds. He glanced down and knew he just had to wait until Sam arrived. Falling back to the ground and rolling to his back he reached out to take her hand. No matter what he had to keep her safe until Sam arrived. There was no other thought in his mind.

"Come here, sit beside me. My brother will be here soon." He patted the ground.

She walked around his head, to the other side, and slid down beside the wall of hay, then placed her hands under his head, a feeble attempt to raise it. Things were blurry now, his energy and strength gone, but he understood what she wanted. Raising his head she jutted her legs out and when he put it back down it rested on her little legs. He felt her hand rest beside his throat, just under his chin, while the other gently stroked through his hair.

Who was this child?

His mind was having difficulty focusing enough to carry on a conversation. Instead he let his body relax and her touch soothe him.

"I knew you would come," she said softly to him. "I prayed for help and the angel sent you."

Dean's eyes cut over to her though he couldn't find the words to speak.

"The angel will help you now." Her hand tenderly patting his head.

A tear ran down his cheek as the brown eyes full of wisdom watched over him.

"Does it hurt?" He had to think and assess for a second. "No," he said with a raspy whisper. And it was true, the pain was gone now.

"Good," she said with a smile. Then she began to hum. Dean didn't know the tune but he did know it was peaceful and warm as he closed his eyes.

* * *

"DEAN!"

The sound was muffled and seemed a hundred miles away.

"DEAN!"

This time he opened his eyes to see a familiar face. His Sammy. He wasn't even sure if his lips moved, much less made sound.

"Oh God Dean, don't do this to me."

The voice became distant again.

"DEANNNN!"

* * *

The pain was mind numbing and it took him a while to realize that it was the sensation that he was experiencing. Waking up the blinding white room made him grimace and squint.

"Dean? Can you hear me?"

"Sammy?" He said before opening his eyes again, his voice hoarse and throat dry.

"Yea, can you wake up?" Sam leaned over his big brother who seemed dwarfed by the metal hospital bed. "Come on."

Dean tried to wave him off with his hand but his body wasn't cooperating well. "Give me a minute."

Sam chuckled. "A minute? You've been out of it for three days."

Forcing his eyes open they crinkled at the corners as he grimaced. "What?"

"Yea man, three days and several units of blood."

Flashes went through his mind as he took in the room around him. Night. Barn. Werewolf. Dead.

Wait, it was dead right? "Werewolf?"

"You got it. What in the hell did you think you were doing taking this on by yourself? I was on the way Dean." The annoyance in his younger brother's voice resounding quite clearly.

He tried to sit up a little but was halted by bandages across his abdomen and pain. "Where the hell were you?" He grumbled.

Sam did a tiny jiggle of his head and pressed his lips together. "The real estate manager met me at the car and was determined to tell me the history of the house and offer me an outstanding deal on it."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Planning on settling down Sammy?"

A quick bitch face let Dean know he was effectively annoying his brother.

"No, but the interesting thing is the story behind the last family that lived there. Apparently, they were killed in a wild animal attack, the bodies mutilated enough to send this little town into a state of shock. No one would even buy the house after that."

Dean sat back and listened. The whole family killed. Family.

Family.

He bolted up with a yelp of pain. "Elizabeth!" Eyes full of fear looked to Sam. "Please tell me you got her the hell out of that place."

Sam stood up with a sudden horror that he'd left someone behind. "Dean? Who's Elizabeth?"

Dean was panicked now, beads of perspiration forming on his forehead and upper lip. His mind was reeling. If Sam didn't have her then who did? Did she get scared and run off when he was unconscious? He couldn't remember much after shooting the werewolf.

He spoke in rapid fire. "Girl, little, about five years old, brown coat, hat, brown curly hair. She was with me, she must have run off."

"Dean, there wasn't anyone there when I found you."

He raced through it in his mind again. Where could she have gone? "Sam, we have to find her. She was all alone out there."

Pain forced him to lean back against the bed hard. His monitor alarming with his racing heart.

Sam pressed his hand against his brothers shoulder. "Okay Dean, okay, just relax okay? You're not gonna help anyone if you pop those stitches out. Just tell me what happened."

Dean leaned back in the bed pausing for a moment to push the searing pain back some and reopen his eyes. "Okay, okay, she was in the barn with me, like she was lost or something and I tried to keep her hidden, but she," he paused and his eyes shot to Sam. "She's the reason I'm alive Sammy. I dropped the gun, I mean I was dead meat until..."

He grabbed Sam's arm. "Find her."

* * *

He was trying to stomach some breakfast when Sam came back into the hospital room holding a file folder. Despite returning to the property there had been no sign of Elizabeth anywhere. Dean was losing hope that she would be found or even know if she was okay. Today's search had sent Sam to more farms around the old house in search of someone that would know her.

Dean shook his head, "Please tell me you found her."

Sam placed the folder on the table and pulled out a picture. "Is this her?"

Dean took the picture. Obviously a home photo of a young child, dressed in a brown coat with a fur collar and brown knitted hat, standing in a pile of leaves in front of a house. The house.

"Yea, that's her, Elizabeth."

Sam sat down in the chair by the bed. "That's Elizabeth Conner. She lived at the house where you saw her."

Dean felt a tighten in his chest. "Lived?"

Sam nodded. "Lived Dean. It was her family that was killed." Sam raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. "The whole family died, including Elizabeth, eight years ago."

Dean felt the air rush out of his lungs. "How can that be? She was there Sammy. She brought me my gun! She saved my life!" He stuttered. "Her hand, it was warm in mine."

He looked at his palm then closed his fingers on it still remembering feeling her touch.

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. Ghost? Residual spirit?"

"She was so real." Dean's voice was smaller.

Sam looked with worry to his brother. "Dean, she died eight years ago. I don't know why she was there, but if she helped you, saved you..."

Dean nodded. He didn't know anything else to say at this point. Instead he closed his eyes and let the memories flood over him with some attempt to keep the feeling of insanity at bay.

* * *

Dean stood inside the barn. This time the sun was shining brightly, the shadows no longer intimidating. He knelt down at the spot that held a large circle of now dried blood. Things seemed more real now, how much blood he had lost and how close he had come to dying that night. His hand touched the pressed down area of hay that matched his body, and then the smaller one beside it. Standing up again he brought up a half smile and looked up.

"Thank you Elizabeth."

Top of Form

Bottom of Form


End file.
